


Once Upon A Time Het Ficlets

by Salmon_Pink



Series: Once Upon A Time Ficlets [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Once Upon a Time in Wonderland (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Community: 1drabble, Community: fan_flashworks, Community: fc_smorgasbord, Community: writers_choice, Dirty Talk, F/M, Phone Sex, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assorted Once Upon A Time ficlets, all featuring het pairings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tankards And Teasing (Killian/Emma)

**Author's Note:**

> All ficlets under 500 words, all individually rated. Additional content notes, such as kinks and spoilers, included where necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killian/Emma, rated R. Public sex. Written for [Writer's Choice](http://writers-choice.livejournal.com/), prompt "trouble".

Granny’s diner may not have the ale-soaked charm of the taverns Killian’s used to, but he’s grown fond of it all the same. Seems that no matter what land he may wind up in, more often than not there’s a local drinking house full of the usual combination of friendly and angry faces. Makes him feel right at home.

And just like every drinking house he’s ever been to, tavern and diner alike, he’s drunk and in trouble.

The trouble this time goes by the name of Emma Swan.

He swallows tightly, glancing over to his left. Emma’s smiling easily as she talks, her cheeks a little flushed with good whiskey and better company. She doesn’t look back at Killian, too caught up in her conversation with Belle, and for all appearances she seems casual and _innocent_.

She’ll be the death of him, this one. He means it more and more every time he says it.

Because her hand is high up on this thigh, fingers slipping down between his legs to dig into the flesh of his inner thigh through the leather. Knuckles nudging up against his crotch, and Killian finished his beer what feels like an age ago, but there’s no way he can stand up to fetch another one without everyone there seeing just how affected he is by Emma’s touch.

He is _embarrassingly_ turned-on right now, and the evening keeps stretching on before him with no reprieve in sight. And worst of all, every time he fidgets this little twitch of amusement appears at the corner of Emma’s mouth, and she starts touching him even harder, even more purposefully.

She’s enjoying tormenting him and, God help him, Killian loves every second of it.

If course, they haven’t gone completely unnoticed. Charming’s thrown him a few suspicious looks, although Snow is apparently doing her best to keep him distracted. Although that’s probably not the blessing it seems to be, because she’s far more terrifying than her husband, and Killian’s not looking forward to the next time she corners him without witnesses.

But none of that is enough to convince him to make Emma _stop_. 

He can’t even reciprocate, because she’s on his left side, and it’s rather a challenge to get handsy using a hook. Of course, that’s no doubt on purpose, she’s got a sharp and tricky mind like that. It’s one of the many reasons he’s so damn smitten with her.

He’ll be having his revenge when they’re finally alone. He fully intends to spend the entire night making her moan his name, her legs tight around his body and the taste of her on his tongue. But for now, all he can do is wait, aroused and aching, and try to plan how to _hell_ he can escape the diner without all of Storybrooke noticing the tenting of his trousers.


	2. Heartbeats (Will/Anastasia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will/Anastasia, rated NC-17. Set during _And They Lived..._. Written for [1Drabble](http://1drabble.livejournal.com/), prompt "recovery".

There’s a throbbing in Will’s chest, the sensation of being full, solid, _whole_. 

God, he’d forgotten what this could _feel_ like. 

Having no heart meant Will’s pain and loneliness were only dull echoes of what they’d once been, but it also meant the same for his happiness. He’d only felt a shallow imitation of it, but now there’s so much joy in him it’s _overwhelming_. 

He’s shaking with it, and Anastasia grabs his hands, holds them tight, and Will realises she’s shaking too.

It’s not having his heart back that makes him feel whole. It’s _her_.

Will can’t think about the image she made, cold and pale, lying so still. He saw her die twice, and maybe it’s not just the happiness that has him shaking, maybe it’s fear and relief too. But it’s okay, _she’s_ okay, vibrant and alive in his arms.

Jafar’s defeated. Wonderland’s safe. Alice’s somewhere else in the castle, celebrating with Cyrus, meeting his brothers. Will figures he’s due a celebration of his own.

Anastasia grins when he presses her back against the wall, her fingers at the collar of his jacket dragging him in for a kiss that leaves him _breathless_.

His hands move over her hips, her waist, her chest, trying to relearn her curves. She shoves at his jacket, yanks at his shirt, and the seam of her skirt tears loudly when he pulls at her thigh.

There’s a split second where Will’s instinctively bracing himself for her to get angry, because he can only imagine how expensive that dress is, but Anastasia just _laughs_ , delighted and carefree. Her arms wrap around his neck, and he catches her easily when she pushes up, legs around his waist, tight and warm.

He rips the split in her dress higher over her thigh, because the damn thing’s ruined now, may as well make it worse, and Anastasia squirms and giggles. Her weight is balanced between the wall and his body, her hands between them working open the fly of his jeans, and her smile turns sharper when his hand skims over her hip.

“Not even wearing _underwear_ ,” Will grunts in realisation, fingers slipping over bare skin, sliding back to palm her ass and grind their hips together.

“I was hoping for a happy ending,” she smirks mischievously, eyes sparkling, and it turns into a softer, wider smile at his laugh. 

“Well, wouldn’t want to disappoint,” he says wryly, wriggling a little so she can push his jean down his hips.

Their fingers lace together, and that throbbing in Will’s chest turns into a _roar_ as he pushes inside her. He groans deep, their foreheads bowed together, breath hot between them as she gasps. 

“Ana,” he whispers, and his voice sounds so _helpless_.

Anastasia kisses him like she’d give him her _soul_ if she could, and Will’s shaking again, or maybe he never stopped. This is where he belongs, in her embrace, and his recovered heart flutters for how _right_ it feels.


	3. Apparitional (Robin/Regina)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin/Regina, rated PG. Set during Season Three. Written for [Fan Flashworks](http://fan-flashworks.livejournal.com/), prompt "haunted".

Robin sees them in these moments, the ghosts in her eyes. When Regina bites her lip, when her breath stutters, when she averts her gaze for just a flicker of a second. They’re all cracks in her armour, tiny and carefully concealed, but Robin knows where to look, and so he sees them.

He knows where to look, because he has ghosts of his own.

Regina’s ghosts are bitter and sharp and dripping blood, the phantoms of her past, the mistakes and the _sins_. The terror she inflicted on others, rebounding back at her with snarling teeth and twisted fangs.

She hesitates in these moments, just for the briefest seconds, and Robin knows why. 

She does not believe she deserves this. Regina does not believe that she could have true love, that happiness could be within her grasp. She hesitates, because she is always waiting, always anticipating the moment it will be snatched from her, the ghosts in her eyes howling for revenge, for her fall, for her misery.

Regina does not believe, but Robin _does_. He believes in her, absolutely, wholly, completely, with everything he has. She hesitates, and he kisses her with more love, with more devotion, and Regina melts against him with the softest of moans. 

Robin cannot save her from the ghosts that haunt her. But he can stand beside her, he can support her, he can remind her over and over that she’s not alone. He can look into her eyes and see past the phantoms, see her for the woman she is now and not the woman she once was.

When the ghosts scream at night, he can hold her close and drown them out with gentle whispers and the steady beat of his heart.

He can’t save her from her past, but he _can_ be Regina’s happy ending.


	4. Anbinden (Anna/David)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anna/David, rated PG-13. Set during Season Four's _White Out_. Spoilers. Written for [1Drabble](http://1drabble.livejournal.com/), prompt "change".

Anna laughs as their swords clang together, enjoying the way David now smiles back instead of sighing in frustration. He already seems _different_ , lighter than the man she met just the day before, as if a weight has been lifted from him. Surer of himself, and stronger for it, and a part of her wishes she could stay a little longer to enjoy discovering this new side of him.

But her mission awaits, she has to move on.

Still, there’s time to teach him just a few more moves. He’s a natural, especially now he’s embracing the feel of the sword in his hand instead of fretting over it. She couldn’t demonstrate anything too flashy before, just showing him the basics, but Anna’s determined to teach him a little flair to his fighting before she goes, something for him to work on in her absence.

He ducks under her blade, just as she showed him, spinning low and coming up strong. Pushing right into her space, and she can imagine he’ll surprise all sorts of foes with that one. She lets him jolt her sword from her grasp, so he can see exactly where to strike her hand to make her grip lax, and he grins broadly, flushed and excited.

Kissing him feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He kisses her back fiercely, and she barely hears the clatter of his sword dropping beside her own.

Kissing David isn’t the same as kissing Kristoff. With Kristoff, it makes something special and warm and _perfect_ unfurl in her stomach, something like contentment and love. But with David, Anna’s heart beats faster, giddiness fluttering through her, not the same but wonderful nonetheless. This is only for now, just one moment caught in time, and she’ll be able to walk away from it with a smile. It’s another layer of depth to the memory of him she’ll carry with her, and his arms wrap tightly around her body, drawing her close to his chest.

He walks her backwards across the barn, and she giggles when he tumbles them both into the hay, rolling together, him kissing her until she’s breathless. She pushes her fingers into his hair, her legs wrapping around his waist, and his hips buck against her, making Anna shiver and nip playfully at his bottom lip.

Sure, she’s on a clock, the mission isn’t far from her mind. But after that nasty business with Bo Peep, she figures she’s earned herself a treat, and David’s groan buzzing against her mouth is the loveliest kind of reward.


	5. Sweetly Sharp As A Blade (Belle/Rumplestiltskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belle/Rumplestiltskin, rated NC-17. BDSM. Set during Season Four's _A Tale Of Two Sisters_. Spoilers. Written for [Fanfic Challenge Smorgasbord](http://fc-smorgasbord.livejournal.com/), prompt "hunger".

“Ask whatever you wish of me,” Rumplestiltskin murmurs, looking up at Belle with hooded eyes, his knees pressed into the cushions laid across the floor. His smile is hungry yet patient, and her answering grin is partially hidden by the knife as Belle presses the flat of the blade to her lips.

It sends a shiver through him, to know it’s the _real_ knife in her hands. After the lies and the omissions, he’s determined to try this again, to do things right. His name glints upon the metal, Belle’s eyes sparkling above it.

It’s a surrender, but a pleasurable one. He’s held the knife so close for so long, but he _trusts_ her, in a way he’d long accepted he could never trust another. He’s fought against that trust, ducked and squirmed from it, the whispers of a coward bleeding in at the edges of his mind. But now he finally thinks he may be ready, to give her his everything, to know how it feels to be helpless in her hands.

“Whatever I wish?” she echoes mischievously, and Rumplestiltskin bows his head to her.

“I will do as commanded,” he promises.

Belle laughs then, gentle and quiet, her hand reaching for him, petting lightly at his hair as his gaze turns back to her.

She has set the knife back upon the table.

“You know,” she muses, fingers sliding down the side of his face to press up under his chin, tilting his head back, “I don’t think I need _magic_ to give you orders. We’ve always had so much fun without it.”

Rumplestiltskin smirks up at her, sharp and full of desire at the memory of all the games that they’ve shared like this, him on his knees and Belle standing beautiful and strong before him.

“I believe you may be right, my wife,” he agrees, her thumb stroking over his chin.

“You remember your safeword?” she asks, the question so familiar that it sends a conditioned thrill of anticipation through him.

“My safeword is ‘woven’,” he recites dutifully.

Belle pats his cheek, pleased, before her hands retreat to the hem of her negligee, satin in champagne gold, sliding it higher up her thighs. “I believe I’d like to begin tonight with your mouth upon me,” she says softly, her tone pleasantly lilting despite the _heat_ in her words. 

She is never stern with him, never cruel or cold. She believes these moments between them should be as sweet as they are sensual, always playful, always light-hearted.

For somebody like Rumplestiltskin, who has spent so many lifetimes being the one to dominate, to command, it is only somebody as good-natured as Belle that he could ever _submit_ to.

She drapes one leg over his shoulder, his hands steadying at her hips. She’s bare beneath the negligee, and already wet for him, and Rumplestiltskin presses his face between her legs, inhaling the scent of her desire, mouth watering in his hunger for her.


	6. Cellular (Killian/Emma)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Killian/Emma, rated R. Dirty talk/phone sex. Set during Season Four. No specific spoilers. Written for [Writer's Choice](http://writers-choice.livejournal.com/), prompt "phone".

“Hey, you answered,” Emma’s voice says when he presses the device to his ear. 

Killian rolls his eyes, although he knows she can’t see it through the phone. “I _am_ capable of pressing a button, Swan,” he reminds her. 

“The first cell phone we bought you ended up smashed against the wall,” she points out, and he can tell she’s rolling her eyes right back at him.

Okay, she has a point. But somebody had _sabotaged_ that one, so that whenever it rang it was obnoxiously loud and played some awful, childish song about smiling at crocodiles. This new one is better, it simply rings like a tinny bell at a far more respectable volume.

“Did you want something?” he asks, purposely changing the subject. “I thought you were supposed to be at the station.”

“I am,” Emma tells him, and there’s something in her voice, something playful. “David’s popped home to check on Mary Margaret and the baby. I’m here all alone.”

Killian grins at the idea of that. “Looking for some company?”

Emma laughs, sounding husky. “No, I’m good. I thought maybe we could just _chat_.”

Well, that’s disappointing. But if he can’t see her, talking with her is still good. It really is embarrassing just how infatuated he is with the sound of her voice. “Any particular subject in mind?”

“What are you wearing?” Emma murmurs.

Killian raises his eyebrows, glances down at himself. “The same thing I was wearing when you saw me three hours ago.”

Emma sighs, and he can imagine from the lilt of it that she’s pinching the bridge of her nose. “Killian, I’m trying to introduce you to the concept of phone sex.”

Oh. Well that sounds like it has potential. He sits on the bed, narrowing this eyes thoughtfully. This is foreign territory, to be sure, but he’s always been adaptable. “Fine, what are _you_ wearing?” he tries.

Emma makes a soft noise. “My jeans. A shirt. I was thinking about unbuttoning it.”

“You should do that,” Killian says, voice low.

Another quiet noise. “Okay,” she replies, and he can hear the rustle of fabric as she does what he asks. “What else should I do?”

“The jeans.” Killian pauses, swallows. “You should unbutton them too.”

More rustling. “Tell me _more_.”

He licks his lips. “Your hand, I want you to slide it under the fabric.”

There’s a wet sound, like Emma’s licking her lips too. “You want me to _touch_ myself?”

“God, _yes_ ,” Killian murmurs. He can see it in his mind, her head rolling back, her fingers slipping beneath her panties, already wet for him. 

Her moan is quiet, but it still makes him shiver.

“So this is phone sex?” he asks, slightly breathless.

Emma laughs throatily. “I knew you’d like it,” she says. “Now tell me just _how_ you want me to touch myself.”

Killian smirks, closing his eyes to picture her. “Do it slow. And tell me _everything_.”


	7. Serenely Sleepless (Alice/Cyrus)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alice/Cyrus, rated PG-13. Set during _And They Lived..._. Written for [Fanfic Challenge Smorgasbord](http://fc-smorgasbord.livejournal.com/), prompt "alive".

Alice wakes with a start, eyes instantly alert, heart thudding in her chest. The nightmares don’t come as often now, although she’s not sure she’ll _ever_ be free of them. They’ve followed her for too long, a constant in her life when everything else was turned upside-down. But these days she has a remedy to push them away, instead of letting them haunt her for the rest of the night.

She rolls over into the crook of Cyrus’s outstretched arm, watching the way he breathes steadily, his eyes closed. Real and solid and _here_ , and the images from her dreams begin to fade, the memory of him tumbling into the boiling sea overshadowed by the sight of his hair falling over his forehead so untidily, the mark in his cheek from a crease in the pillow.

The chill of all the pain they went through can’t compete with the fond flush of heat she feels when one eye cracks open and Cyrus smiles at her, sleepy but content.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice a little scratchy.

“Nothing to worry about,” Alice assures him, and he slides an arm around her as she burrows closer. He kisses the top of her head, and Alice presses her face to his neck, enjoying the way his skin is so warm from the bedclothes. She brushes her lips there, following the curve of his throat to his shoulder and back, chasing the shadows over his collarbone, and his fingers curl in her nightgown, a soft sound escaping him.

“I should let you sleep,” she murmurs, fingertips skimming over his arm.

Cyrus laughs quietly, his hand moving against her back. “I don’t think I could get back to sleep now, even if I _wanted_ to.”

“Sorry,” Alice whispers, her inner thigh sliding up to rest against his hip, toes curling against his calf.

“I don’t believe you’re sorry for a moment,” he accuses playfully, and Alice has to bite her lip when he rolls them over to keep herself from giggling. His weight presses her down against the mattress, and she wraps her legs around him, trying to muffle her moan at the way their hips rock together.

It wouldn’t do to wake the rest of the house, after all. Not when she and Cyrus finally have a _home_ , back in England, in the safety of her father’s estate. Not sleeping wherever they can find shelter, not clutching weapons close as they doze. 

They’re here, they’re together, Cyrus is _alive_ , and sometimes that still shakes Alice right down to her core, to remember that she lost him once. But then he’s kissing her deeply, stealing her breath with his passion, and she won’t let the past spoil her enjoyment of the present. 

Their bodies move together, familiar and wonderful, and Alice lets the nightmare dissolve from her mind completely. She has everything she’s ever wanted - her bad dreams are just ghosts now, never to hurt her again.


End file.
